Six or half a dozen
by FacelessStranger
Summary: This is an extremely different look at Batman and the Joker....Read and review, please.......oh, and I don't own any of these characters and all that jazz....I had originally called this something else but just now decided to change the title


"What's wrong with me," Bruce Wayne thought as he stared intently at the large gun in his hands,"It is my twenty-first birthday. I should be out having fun tonight. I should be enjoying everything my parents left me. Aw, who am I kidding? I haven't been able to enjoy myself for quite some time now." As they so often did, his thoughts drifted back to one particular evening many years ago. Bruce could see the crowds making their way down the sidewalk outside the movie theater which he had visited on that evening as clearly as he could see the elegant room in his opulent mansion that he currently stood inside. He felt the warm, safe feeling he had gotten from looking up into his parents' faces and felt the same tightening in his chest that he had felt when the mugger stepped out of the shadows he had been lurking in. It was as if it was all happening to him again right then and there. In a way, one could argue that they were. One could easily make the case that Bruce Wayne had never stopped being that scared little boy who helplessly looked on in terror as his perfect world came crashing down around him.

"But is this the answer," Bruce Wayne wondered aloud,"is this what my parents would want? No!!! It couldn't possibly be." Bruce took a few steps towards the case where his father kept the guns he used for hunting to put away the gun he had taken out. Before he could reach the case, Bruce stopped abruptly.

"Wait," Bruce said to himself,"Mom and Dad wouldn't want me to remain that helpless little boy forever. Yes, and I certainly don't want to remain helpless forever, either. I'm going to do something about that right now." Bruce left the room with the gun. He exited his mansion through a rarely used side entrance. To further reduce the likelihood that he would be noticed during this errand, Bruce chose a car from his collection that he knew would be the least likely to attract attention.

Since the night his parents were murdered, Bruce had been preparing himself. Bruce had studied all forms of martial arts until he was more proficient than the person who had been teaching him. A natural aptitude for the sciences had aided him in becoming adept at working with all manner of machines. It began to seem as though no subject was to obscure for him to study until he became an authority on it. All the various facets of the Gotham City crime world and legal system held an especial fascination for him. Bruce hadn't been sure what exactly all that preparation was for until tonight.

Bruce pulled up a few blocks outside his intended destination. It was common knowledge that the Richard Martelli and his gang could be found eating dinner every night in Mike's diner. It was also common knowledge that they were responsible for the bulk of the crime taking place in this city. However, Richard Martelli and his gang were good at covering their tracks and had numerous police officers and local city government officials in their pocket. That was why they were still having dinner every night at Mike's diner instead of rotting away behind bars.

When Bruce reached the door to Mike's diner, he paused for a moment. He knew that what he was about to do was illegal. Bruce thought about turning back very briefly but ultimately decided that he needed to go through with this.

"Hey," Richard Martelli shouted when Bruce kicked the door to Mike's diner down and stepped inside with his gun held high,"who the hell are you?" Bruce Wayne didn't answer. He was in no mood for conversation. Immediately, Bruce began shooting the mobsters dead and dodging their bullets. There were more of them than Bruce had expected so he ran out of bullets. This didn't prove to be a problem, however, because it was fairly easy for him to take a gun from one of the dead mobsters and use it to dispatch the rest of his associates. When the entire Martelli gang lay dead on the floor, Bruce noticed a large amount of money on one of the tables.

"Hmm," Bruce thought,"I'd bet that this is most likely is the take from some job that they pulled." Bruce certainly didn't need any more money. However, it took no time at all for him to decide to take the money. Bruce knew that money is power and he didn't want to feel powerless ever again. No matter what it took, he was going to see to it that didn't happen.

Two Years Later:

The tall, thin youth with the insane grin sitting in the back of the police car didn't have a name. Obviously, he had been given one at birth. It had been a very long time, however, since anyone had called him by it. His father had left before he was born. When he was three months old, his mother died of a drug overdose and he was sent to live with his uncle. His uncle decided to kick him out and let him fend for himself when he turned twelve and didn't do much to care for him before that.

All of this made the conversation that the youth was having with the officer in the driver's seat especially strange. The youth couldn't recall anyone ever giving any indication that they cared about him as a human being and listening to what he had to say before. It surprised the youth to see what a difference something like that seemed to make to him. In addition to that, the officer was hysterically funny. The youth often dealt with the harsh realities of his life by joking around but everyone else he met always sounded so terribly serious. He'd never met anyone who he thought was this hilarious before.

The things that Officer Reynolds, the officer who was driving, had to say about life were what really struck the youth with the wild grin sitting in the backseat. On the long ride to the police station, Officer Reynolds told the youth a great many stories about what he had learned during his long life and his time on the force.

One story in particular stuck with the youth. It involved an incident that took place about two years earlier which involved a trap that was set up by the Edward Carter and his gang. The plan was unsuccessful because Edward Carter's plan hinged on support from Richard Martelli's gang but apparently some rival had already murdered them all earlier in the evening. To Officer Reynolds, it looked like the plan would have been successful and he would have been killed if the support had arrived. He used this story to illustrate that anything is possible and what will happen in life isn't written in stone.

"Okay," said Officer Reynolds after he had reached the police station and started leading the youth inside,"I really think you're better than this. I don't want to have to bring you in here again, Jack."

"Don't worry,"the youth who had been using the alias 'Jack Napier' said as his grin vanished and a serious expression appeared on his face,"you won't."

Five Years Later:

The youth had stuck with the alias 'Jack Napier' for several years now. His life was almost completely different from what it had been a few years earlier. Jack had gotten himself a job stocking shelves at a department store and was staying in a small studio apartment that he had been renting. He had seen Officer Reynolds around the neighborhood several times since they had first met and Officer Reynolds had served as a father figure or mentor in Jack's life.

Jack currently was walking home from the corner grocery store. He carried one large grocery bag under each hand. Jack walked fairly quickly because he wanted to get home and put the groceries away while the milk was still cold.

"Hey there," he said to Officer Reynolds as he passed where Officer Reynolds was standing and discussing something with an elderly couple. Jack smiled as he thought about what a familiar sight this was. People such as these were often calling Officer Reynolds over to help with fairly inconsequential problems that didn't really require police intervention because they knew that Officer Reynolds was always happy to help anyone with whatever problem they might have.

"Hello Jack," Officer Reynolds said in reply,"It's good to see you." After a polite wave, he went back to discussing whatever it was that he had been discussing with the elderly couple.

Several minutes after he passed Officer Reynolds, a wild-eyed man in a brown leather jacket rushed around the corner carrying a purse in one hand and a gun in the other hand. He shoved Jack to the ground instead of going around him. Officer Reynolds started towards the man and attempted to draw his gun.

"Oh no you don't," the man shouted as he shot Officer Reynolds in the head. Officer Reynolds fell down dead and the man escaped around the corner.

Jack suddenly felt dead inside. The sight of Officer Reynolds' dead body sprawled out on the pavement swept through Jack's mind like a hurricane and seemed guaranteed to stay there for the rest of Jack's life. What really hurt Jack was the thought of all the good work that Officer Reynold's did ending. That was what seemed really unthinkable.

Two Years Later:

Alfred Pennyworth's heart began to race as he walked down the deserted street. Although he was in a notoriously poor neighborhood, it was primarily thugs sent by his former master out to exact vengeance and not common street thugs looking to rob the first poor soul they met that had Alfred worried. The thought of Bruce Wayne's thugs coming to execute him was a constant source of concern for Alfred. Bruce had not taken it well when Alfred had confronted him about his criminal activities and threatened to do whatever he could to see that Bruce was brought to justice right before quitting his job as Bruce's butler. Three rather large young men, two of whom carried switchblades, came around the corner at that point.

"Well," thought Alfred,"these youths clearly aren't the sort that Bruce Wayne is likely to hire so at least it won't be Master Bruce that brings about my demise. Still, though, I suppose I'll be just as dead whether I'm killed by common street urchins or some of Master Bruce's thugs." Alfred sighed. He had known it was a mistake to set foot in this neighborhood. The only reason that Alfred had done so was that he hoped to run into an individual who was rather difficult to contact.

"Wow," one of the youths in the gang said to Alfred,"you're sure a long way from home, ain't ya?"

"C'mon," said another gang member as he held his switchblade menacingly,"hand over the wallet, old man. You better have something good in there for us, too." A figure sprang from the shadows without warning at that point. He wore a black sweater, dark jeans, black boots, and a red ski mask. Before they had time to react, he knocked out two of the gang members with the baseball bat he carried and delivered a well-placed kick to the head of the third that rendered him unconscious.

"The red hood," Alfred said with delight,"just the person I hoped to meet when I came to this God-forsaken part of town."

"Yes," Jack agreed as he adjusted his red ski mask,"you are a long way from home Mr. Pennyworth, aren't you??"

"Ah," Alfred replied,"you recognize me. Splendid. Well, then you must know that I inherited a small fortune from the parents of my former employer and that I have turned that, along with other money I have saved up over the years, into a rather sizable fortune. My point, Mr. Hood, is that I've come in search of you because I hope that you will allow me to finance your efforts."

"I don't do what I do for money," the red hood said brusquely.

"Of course not," Alfred assured him,"but think of all the good you could do with better crime-fighting equipment. However, yes, if you wouldn't object then I would like to also arrange for a modest stipend for your personal use as well."

"Hmm," said the red hood,"that's a good point. I could be doing a lot more. Okay, Mr. Pennyworth, I will accept your offer." He put out his hand and Alfred shook it.

"Wonderful," Alfred said with a smile,"I've already been working on a few gadgets that I believe you will find useful. Oh, and there's one more thing. I've taken the liberty of designing a new costume and crime-fighting persona for you. I remember that when Master Bruce was still but a lad he was terrified of the bats that lived in a cave near the family home. To properly strike fear into the hearts of criminals like Master Bruce, I think that you would have greater success if you started wearing this other outfit that I designed and calling yourself 'The Batman'."

Two Years Later:

Batman sat in the Batmobile outside of a factory owned by Wayne Enterprises. He read the letter in his hand again as he had countless times before.

"Master Jack," the letter from Alfred began,"if you are reading this, then I am afraid that I am now deceased. Most likely, it was one of Master Bruce's thugs that was responsible for my untimely demise. I've arranged for the entirety of my fortune to be transferred into your account through a series of phony accounts that I am confident no one will be able to trace. Use that money to continue your good work. Aiding you in your efforts has given these last few years of my life meaning and helped compensate for all the pain that Master Bruce has caused me by turning to a life of crime. Thank you for everything. Sincerely, Alfred Pennyworth."

One of Batman's sources had been able to confirm that it was Bruce Wayne's thugs that had killed Alfred and another had been able to provide him that Bruce Wayne and his men were purchasing some stolen weapons from a criminal known as "the penguin" and his gang at this factory tonight.

Batman set the letter down on the seat next to his and got out of the Batmobile. He kicked down the door to the factory and charged inside. A few well-thrown batarangs knocked out the majority of the criminals and a few batbolas incapacitated most of the rest. Bruce Wayne, however, managed to escape through a door in the back of the room. Batman rushed after him.

"There's no way I'm going to jail," Wayne shouted. In the hope of escaping the Batman, Bruce Wayne rushed across a narrow metal bridge that ran high up above several large vats of chemicals. He stumbled about halfway across the bridge and leaned on the railing in an attempt to steady himself. The railing gave way and Bruce soon found himself suspended over one of the vats of chemicals. Batman rushed towards him but didn't manage to make it there before Bruce lost his grip.

Epilogue:

The next thing he knew, Bruce Wayne found himself waking up on a hospital bed. As for how much time had passed since he was last conscious, Bruce could only guess. He tried to get up and look around but found that he was handcuffed to the bed. Bruce fumbled about blindly until he found the button by his bedside that turned on the light over his bed. When Bruce turned and saw his reflection in the window, he was stunned. His hair had turned green, his skin was white like chalk, and lips were an extremely unnatural shade of red. Bruce's new face reminded him of the face of some sort of circus performer or perhaps of a face he remembered seeing on a certain pair of cards in the deck that have the letter "j" on them.

"This can't be real," Bruce thought to himself in terror,"this has to be some kind of joke."


End file.
